Sins of the past
by Gemma Inkyboots
Summary: The rating's for potential ouches and mindgames. I dunno what sort exactly yet - be patient with me.
1. Broken

(Absent scowl.) I've really got to stop trying to write three parts of a continuity at once, you know... Sigh. I can't help it. I get the idea, I write a bit...then I _have_ to post it. I held off as long as I could so people didn't get confused (this comes after 'Meetings', guys - I know it'll come up on the list nearer the top and that'd certainly confuse me. Or maybe I'm just dumb like that...) but the Lure of the Response was waaay too strong.

So here it is - a post-Meetings, pre-everything-else-I've-written-so-far fic. My theory on how and why poor Starscream joined the D-cons. Why poor Starscream? Just wait. I'm evil - and I can't do a darn thing about it (grins happily.)

Oh, while I'm here - Alexandra Spar (that's hell to type in a hurry, isn't it?!) I only use 'flier' so often in 'Meetings' because I refuse to call him a seeker in it (he's not yet, so I won't. It'd ruin the point ) Any ideas on what else to call him'd be appreciated - I get bored with 'flier', 'young mech' and all that too, but I can't think of any more... BTW, thanks for the reviews. Same to everyone else, and I've started on the next chapter but I dunno when it'll be done. As per usual. ;)

Anyway. I'll get on with it. Oh dear...

* * *

Broken

Space is cold. A hungry, bitter, jealous vacuum clutching at those who pass through it for life, energy, being - space is a non-entity, and is possessive of those in its clutches who contain the life it craves.

The flyer fell through space, its cold, greedy tendrils rippling over him in a hypnotic, soothing siren call that echoed round and round in the gaping void eating him alive. He paid the cry no heed - he _couldn't _hear it - he heard only the screams of the gale and the voice he didn't recognise as his own, the howling snow that blinded and spun him, round and round like a broken plaything, discarded to be thrown around at the leisure of the planet that was intent on killing them both.

And the planet won. The flyer was already dead - he knew it, felt it, felt the cold and the numbness that had nothing to do with the void of space and everything to do with the wailing, crying void in his spark...he had lost. _He was lost._ His self, his life, his spark was ripped in two. And the other was lost.

He had no energy to cry, to call, to scream and scream for his companion until his voice cracked and broke from the strain. It already had. He had nothing left to cry with.

The flyer fell listlessly through the abyss, as he had for so long. He still wasn't sure if he shouldn't have just stayed, kept searching until his energy gave out and he froze into a statue, the only speck of colour on the dead ball of ice that called itself a planet. His energy levels were barely keeping him functioning now, and even if he reached Cybertron there was no way he'd land well - or at all. If he ever got back he'd shatter into so many pieces they'd never be able to fix him.

That, at least, brought a dull, jaded mockery of a smile to his hidden lips. He wanted to die.

_I hope it hurts,_ he thought, _to pay for leaving you behind. I deserve to pay. _

_I'm so sorry. I should have stayed..._

The burning fires of inferno reentry yanked him rudely from his dull, icy oblivion, scoured his shell with the wrath of Primus incarnate and left him silently screaming and begging for _someone, anyone, kill me - Skyfire - please - someone, help me! _

No-one came. No-one heard the falling star cry as he crashed to the ground, smashing through shells of ruined buildings in the lifeless sector of Cybertron called the Dead Zone, shattered zombie-mechs, Empties and scavengers only looking up as the scorched and battered fireball roared over their heads to come hurtling into one wall too many and slam into the ground, screeching and groaning along the remains of a filthy street before eventually coming to a wrenching stop.

Silence.

Darkness.

The scavengers came, picking their way through the wreckage of the lower levels, to find the ruined body of what had once been a pyramid flyer.

Once.

Now his wings were shattered, his body forced into robot mode with the strength and horror of the crash, his silver limbs cracked and broken as wires spat and died and fuel drained away. They gathered, the jackals of Cybertron, and picked the bones of a flyer's carcass for them to live another cycle: most of his parts were shattered beyond their overall limited skills to repair, any little fuel he might have had was burnt up in re-entry or spilt over half a mile of Cybertron and unreachable, and there was little left they could scavenge or trade. Growling and dissatisfied with this worthless gift from the gods they slunk away, looking for sweeter prey.

Time passed. The shell lay dormant, a bundle of wires and metal spread so far and so thin it was barely alive.

But alive it was, though inert.

Deep-rooted circuitry sparked and groaned, a probe sputtered and lurched into pitifully slow, sluggish movement, scraping doggedly over the dented wreckage of a walkway until it reached a cover knocked askew by the comet that was once a flyer. The probe hovered, obeying its in-built programming, and assessed the energy available. It seemed to reach a decision and, in a movement uncannily like a decisive nod, the tip split to form a spike - a plug that dove into the nest of wires and circuitry that was a part of the living Cybertron itself, and began to follow its coding.

Energy moved. It shifted in its course across the surface of the planet, the infinitesimal drain barely noticeable in the bigger picture. But look closer... energy crept up the plug, trickling into a shattered body - systems groaned, shivered, stirred into grumbling obedience, and a self-repair system at the most basic level was activated.

Slowly, so slowly it was almost imperceptible, circuitry began to meld together. Wires reattached, protocols rekindled, reserves drained to the point of no return nursed on any and all spare energy, until the most basic repairs were completed. Life support systems were mainly online, reserves had been recharged to the minimum levels, optic and audio sensors had been repaired but other sensors would need specialist attention and major structural damage had only been temporarily sealed. Internal computer monitors deemed the flyer would be able to survive, and sense returned at last.

Starscream moaned.

_"Noo-oooooh..."_

No-one heard the thin wail, borne across the Dead Zone - broken, aching and as lost as the flier himself. No-one was there to hear. And the flier, for the first time in a thousand, thousand years, was utterly, terrifyingly alone.

* * *

Ouch... (winces.) Sorry, Screamer... Now I'm off to carry on with the next bit. Which will, by the way, owe Nightwind something in inspiration. As ever, please read and review! Reviews make me happy! (but won't stop me torturing the poor seeker - I've got to get this idea out of my system. Sorry.)It'll be interesting to see if I get flamed, actually - I've never been flamed before. Someone complained I use Dreadmoon too much once, but I don't know if that counts... 

Starscream and Skyfire are © Hasbro or somebody. The story and the angst I'm going to put my poor seeker through are all © my twisted little mind.


	2. Save me

Okay, new chapter and new troubles for the poor seeker. Surprisingly, people seem to like this fic (woah...) so here be more. Hope you likee.

Pinkfuzzyone: Thanks, and apologies for the shortness. I wanted to get on, and that seemed like a good place to stop. Dramatic though, no? Here's the next bit then...

Skins Thunderbomb: Okay, if you want, but this _is_ a lot later than 'Meetings' - though I suppose it could get a bit confusing now I think about it. Read it however you want, as long as you review eventually. That's all I ask ;)

Jess: (sorry - I shortened it for speed of typing for my Mum's phone bill's sake!) Yeah, I felt bad about making him crash, but it was never going to be a picnic in this baby. And- ooh, new ideas! (gets out a pad and starts scribbling. Waves absently.) Thanks and enjoy...

Soryu: Don't worry. I like having a few on the go at once so I have something to do when I get stuck on one! It's all this holiday I've had recently...not sure if it'll work when Uni starts but I WILL finish them, if it takes me forver. Hopefully it won't, though. Well, here's the main reason now. Hope you like...and thanks about the flame thing. I'm blushing! By the way, 'Sunrise' will _hopefully_ be a three-parter, and the next chapter's Screamer's - I've just got to choose from the hundreds of songs I think I could use. Gah.

Alirion: Okey-dokey - thanks. Haven't read much Dickens other than Little Nell, which was greatly depressing (Victorean, though, so I should have guessed it would be) but I _like_ the quote. I could use that...hmmm....

One thing - my Megatron may be a little off. I don't make a habit of writing him, but he'll be featuring a lot here - duh - so tell me if he seems a bit...waffy, ok? Thanks.

Righto, off we go again.

* * *

Save me

Megatron turned smartly at the sudden sound of laserfire. On a sharp, silent command his troops scattered and took cover, weapons ready and vengeful anticipation flickering at their heels. He braced himself against a broken wall, cannon charging quietly in the gloom, and warned his warriors to look out for any of the Empties or scavengers that slunk just outside an unwary mech's optic range.

Megatron was never sure about the Dead Zone. It was a perfect breeding ground for Autobots, Empties and the rest of Cybertron's detritus, but for him...for a training exercise it was a perfect hunting ground; the bombed-out buildings hostile, keeping their secrets and stubbornly refusing to be conquered, like it's denizens. And Megatron had always loved a challenge.

The fire came closer, and with it other sounds - loud, rowdy voices and the faint scrabbling of feet on rubble.

Megatron's optics narrowed to blood-red slits. So. The ragged bunch of Auto-scum that had shot down his seeker patrol was coming this way.

The Decepticon leader wasn't the type of mech to care deeply for his soldiers. He regarded them as a whole, as a group rather than individuals, or like pawns to be thrown into battle - used and then discarded if they proved useless.

Those who did well, however...ah, then Megatron would take an interest. If a soldier pleased him he would pay attention, summing him or her up carefully and changing their rank to serve him better, and those who did manage to finally, finally win his respect would also win his favour - and then the Universe was theirs. But only when they had proven trustworthy, however - Megatron was no fool, and he was preternaturally astute at finding treachery. The few that had tried were used as examples, and Megatron took the teaching of his lessons very, very seriously.

The seekers had been among his elite, the best of his infamous squadrons - Megatron felt their loss keenly. The small group had been taken unawares on the way back from an intense, draining shootout, been bombarded by cannon fire and pulled down from the sky with anything the Autobots could get hold of - hooks and chains, whips, even their bare hands. They had been ripped to pieces by the vengeful Autobots and Megatron felt their loss deeply, with the hypocrisy of the noble, merciful bots grating his sensors like a hook through seeker plating steel.

_We make no promises of quarter, of mercy, _he thought angrily as the voices came closer. _We make our methods clear._ _The Decepticons can be more honest than the Autobots claim to be, and we are labelled as 'evil'._

The irony did nothing to defuse the growing fury as he heard running footsteps becoming clearer, closer... He frowned. At this range he could detect the noises more clearly than before, and now... He concentrated harder. Now it sounded like one set of footsteps was out in front - as if the Autobot vigilantes were _chasing_ something...

Staggering, stumbling footsteps - a muffled cry as a foot hit a chunk of rubble and a scrabbling sound as whatever it was fought to pull itself back upright and _keep moving, keep moving, for Primus' sake don't stop!_

Megatron's optics narrowed thoughtfully. If the Autobots were after whatever it was and it didn't want to be caught, it could be useful to them - as a bargaining chip if nothing else. He reacted quickly, barking orders over internal radio: _Hold your fire until you see what is coming. Whatever it is the Autobots are chasing, I want it first - only fire on my signal!_

Turning back to the voices, Megatron hefted his cannon and smiled grimly. _They will pay dearly for the loss of my seekers. _

Clattering, rolling scree came jangling down the slope, a shattered figure swaying for a split second at the top until a burst of blue fire hit the stump of a wing, and it fell jerking and slamming into chunks of rubble like a rag doll as its limbs were thrown wide and a despairing cry was torn from its throat. Skidding to a grinding, scraping, shuddering halt, the wreck of a seeker twitched, shivered and tried painfully to _get up, get up and run, get away!_ as it heard the whooping yells of its pursuers come pounding up to the ridge and stand, just for a moment, looking down on him.

That was their final mistake.

Megatron and his party threw themselves roaring out of hiding, violet laserfire slamming into the Autobots before they even had a chance to cry out and lighting up the graveyard of the Dead Zone with flickering bolts of purple fury.

The Decepticon leader looked over his party with satisfaction. The seekers had been well avenged. At a slight sound, he turned to see the battered wreck of the pyramid seeker gazing up at him in a kind of hopeless fascination - thinking he would be next, perhaps? - but unable to look away.

Megatron strode across and stood over him, the fading flares of violet light sending eerie shadows over his form as he towered over the half-dead seeker.

"_Why...?" _A rasping croak from the undead corpse sprawling before him, a broken offering to some pagan god of death and destruction.

He frowned, not surprised by the question as much as the simple fact the mech could speak at all.

"I am Megatron, leader of the Decepticons" he announced, watching intently for any kind of reaction. He saw only the strange, empty hopelessness in the other's optics, and that never changed as he stared into dying red embers.

_"Why...didn't you...let them...kill...me?" _

Another strange question - if the seeker wanted to die, then why would he run? Megatron understood the lure to keep living, the deep-seated instinct to stay alive at all costs - he had inspired it in enough of the enemy, after all. The Decepticon smirked as an idea flashed through his brain. He needed recruits, and he could guess exactly what the seeker needed right now. And he knew just how to give it - with strings attached. _Ah, yes..._

"You needed our help, and you are a seeker - one of us."

_"One...of..."_

The seeker looked half stunned at the idea. A seeker out here alone, with no trine or faction... Megatron's smile widened. Yes. That was the right way to get recruits - find what they want, what they need...and give it to them.

"Come with us, my friend. We can help you - and you can get revenge on the Autobot scum that did this to you."

_"Revenge..." _

Starscream's optics narrowed in crimson, blood-thick simmering hatred, as aeons of bitterness rose up to drown him even as his energy finally ran out.

_"...Yes."_

And Megatron smiled.

* * *

I seem to be ending a lot of my chapters with creepy guys smiling. Very odd - but then pretty dramatic. Or is it just me? Read and review anyway, ok? 

I don't own anything but the cuddly ball of misery that is the plot. Or the story. Or both - probably both. Blagh.


	3. Show me

Hmph. I could have sworn I put this up last weekend... (shrugs) Oh well. New chappie, hopee likee, see what you think. More Megs this time, but yet more Starscream. Eeeee!

Soryu: Yep, yep, Megsie is a manipulative son of a- ahem. Yes, the poor Screampuff isn't a happy, well-adjusted social butterfly at the minute... And as for the twist, neither can I... ¬ ¬

Indigo-ink: Indigo! Hiya! Lateness is forgiven as long as people review at all. :D I love my reviews, I do, so no maiming is, thankfully, necessary. I don't do maiming, unless it's in a fic and they deserve it. Hee. (coughs and looks bemused at the smoke) Ack - okay, see you! And one thing...why apricot? (tilts head) I'm curious. But you knew that anyway ;)

* * *

Show me

Decepticon base was not the place to wear your spark on your metaphorical sleeve. You showed only contempt and strength to your enemies unless you wanted to be jeered, casual friendship for those you meet briefly in case they died the next day, and life-preserving respect to your superiors. For a grieving seeker, it was hard to remember not to let anything show on his face - Starscream threw himself into the training regime at the War Academy and tried desperately not to think about the pale shining Towers of his old home, morning sunlight on white armour, a smile glimmering in warm blue optics... He ran himself ragged during the day, flying higher and faster and more recklessly than he ever had as a carefree explorer and his trainers praised him for it, but all the time he was trying not to fall. Even in his quarters at night Starscream couldn't relax, couldn't think about Skyfire at all without sinking hopelessly into a quagmire of guilt and total despair that threatened to overwhelm him - no matter how hard he pushed himself, no matter how feverishly he threw himself at the challenges they set him, no matter how fiercely the sick, gnawing need for revenge ate away at him, it was never enough to drive away the images that came crashing down on him unawares when he tried to shut down at the end of every gruelling shift. His superiors watched his progress with sharp-opticed calculation, his teammates muttered amongst themselves about the crazy seeker with a death wish - the instructors set him higher and higher standards to meet and watched disbelieving as Starscream snatched desperately at them and either achieved it in the first few tries or beat himself into the ground until he could.

Megatron watched the seeker, at first listening to reports on the new recruits with idle curiosity and half an audio when Starscream's name was mentioned, then as the flier became more proficient and his cheating the odds more talked about between the instructors he started to pay attention.

It wasn't uncommon for him to observe the training of new recruits on occasion - Megatron liked to build up his own opinions of troops the instructors thought were promising, and many recruits had seen the famous slag-maker stare putting them off from across the room, but only few had watched the blazing red optics dim in consideration and the slight nod, the oh-so-slight dip of the head that accompanied the first steps towards acknowledgement and respect from the Decepticon High Commander.

Megatron smiled to himself. It seemed that the offering had made good.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Some time later the Decepticon leader made his way down to the training grounds. The instructor on duty, a deceptively slim, fragile-looking femme Megatron remembered as having an intensely powerful bellow, turned as he came in to salute briefly and neatly before turning her attention back to the recruits. Megatron nodded back, prowling slowly down the side of the long room and focusing on the seekers-in-waiting circling the ceiling in a dizzying combination of loops, dives and evasive manoeuvres that they had obviously been drilled in before. The Decepticon glanced over at the femme, saw that she was about to begin the next, more intensive part of that shift's drill and stood back, fixing his optics on the red and silver seeker above him, and waited.

Shatterwall didn't so much as glance over at her commander as he walked down the room. Megatron had come into her units many times now - never so many it paid to be relaxed, of course, since whenever the Decepticon leader was in the same room it was impossible to relax completely, if at all, and he liked it that way - but often enough that she knew he would brook no interruptions while he was watching the newbies. Every trainer knew that Megatron made his own observations and impressions of those they mentioned, and any attempts to influence his opinions, however subtle or naively accidental they may be, were not tolerated.

So, she did what she did every time Megatron made his rounds - Shatterwall focussed all her attention on the rookies and put them through their paces the same way she always had. Loud, fast and unforgiving.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Starscream staggered down the corridor in a daze of pain and exhaustion, mild damage warnings buzzing dimly before his optics and telling him of the injuries he already knew he'd sustained. The last simulation had been a killer - literally, rather than figuratively, as Shatterwall had decided to send the entire group on a mission through a computer-generated Iacon, dodging laser fire from ground troops, mounted cannons, Autobot shock troops on the walls... Starscream's plating groaned in complaint, but the seeker welcomed the pain - bizarrely enough, every time he was hit it felt as though he were paying back a debt to Skyfire for leaving, and every time a blast of laser fire came too close for comfort Starscream gritted his teeth and imagined those Autobot slag-suckers chasing behind him... At the end of the sim, he had turned round to see that he was the only seeker left standing.

None of the others had made it half way.

He had left the room battered, dented, and with the unnerving feeling someone had been watching him - his sensors had flicked behind, and just before the doors had hissed shut he had caught a glimpse of deliberate scarlet optics fixed on his back.

For now, though, red contemplation was forgotten as the seeker wobbled his weary way back to his quarters, the knot of guilt in his chest not lessening in the slightest as he tried not to imagine what Skyfire would think of him now.

_I'm sorry, dear one - you might not like it, but now I don't have anywhere else to go. The Academy was destroyed, everyone scattered... _The red optics burned as an old ire flickered to the fore. _And I'm sick of being hunted. _

Starscream wasn't so sunk in self-pity that he missed the footsteps behind him. He slowed, part way down the hallway to his quarters, and his internals lurched as the footsteps slowed to match him.

Suddenly he stopped - fists clenched and his optics narrowed to blazing slits as a raw, hot fury surged through his core. _I won't be hunted. I'm through with it - if someone wants to hunt me, they'll pay dearly for the pleasure._

The footsteps faltered slightly, then stopped a little way behind.

Starscream's optics scorched the walls as he turned. _You want to play? Fine then. We'll play. But this time I will set the rules._

_I won't be hounded again._

Starscream as turned and faced the mech behind him, he set a foot on the road that would lead to his downfall. Optics thin slits of balefire staining his sharp cheek ridges blood-red, he gave the seeker following behind a chilling, sardonic smile.

"Something I can help you with?" he asked pleasantly, the smirk never wavering as his voice cut through the air like a knife. The ice-blue seeker before him bridled, hitching his wings high and stepping forward with an arrogant, almost dainty grace that was intended to belittle Starscream, when in truth the seeker would have laughed had he not been braced on a hair-trigger.

"We don't like the way you've been acting" the mech said, his voice a husky growl that didn't seem to fit his affected movements. "New little seekerettes that want to try flying with real Decepticons shouldn't try and show their betters up in front of Megatron - it never ends happily."

Starscream stood confused for a moment, then looked at the mech with genuine astonishment in newly mocking ruby optics. "You mean to say you seriously think I'm playing to an audience?"

The seeker shifted a little, uncomfortable at the way this was going, at the amusement rising with the scorn in Starscream's face. This wasn't going like it should - the idea was that the newer rookie got intimidated and hung back. He wasn't supposed to laugh!

Scarlet narrowed in the pale blue face. Well, if the smart mouth thought this was funny, then he'd have to learn the hard way. And Mawklin wasn't about to object to playing the teacher for a while...

Starscream saw the mech tense an instant before the seeker sprang. His face set in a snarl - the silver flier leapt to meet him and a vicious punch to Mawklin's face splintered his nose and made him howl. The blue seeker landed awkwardly, flailing in surprise that the newbie had dared to hit him back before he was ready, his spread fingers only scratching across Starscream's canopy. The red flier yelled - more from pent-up emotion than the slight graze to his finish - grabbed a wing so hard his fingers dented it and pivoted gracefully to run Mawklin face-first into the wall. The resounding boom and muffled squawk did nothing more than enrage Starscream further; he pulled the blue seeker back and spun him round so they were face to face - only to have an arm slam into his midsection and send him sprawling.

Mawklin may have been slow to react, but he was egotistical - the thought that the other seeker may actually beat him stung his pride and encouraged him to sting Starscream back. The silver flier staggered backwards, and before he could regain his equilibrium Mawklin was on him - knocking him back again and again until the seeker was sprawling up against the wall.

Now Starscream seriously thought he was in trouble - the earlier fury had turned to an icy fear that this time, he was actually going to die. For the briefest of moments, he welcomed it - wasn't that what he deserved, after leaving Skyfire behind? Wasn't that at least part of the idea behind joining the Decepticons?

He wavered, then all the faces of all the bots, neutral and Autobot alike who had ever jeered at him, spat on his name, veered out of his airspace when he came near - they all started to dance and laugh behind the triumphant red optics staring down at him... Fear, fury, abject hatred, they all mixed together until Starscream couldn't tell the difference and he lunged at Mawklin with his fingers curling into claws and face contorted, shrieking like a banshee as he knocked the other seeker clear across the hallway and laid into him, pounding his face, torso, intakes, anything he could reach, hitting him again and again until the faces had disappeared and he couldn't hear the laughing over the ring of battered metal on the cold steel floor.

Starscream came back to himself after a while - kneeling on the floor in an oozing puddle of Mawklin's fuel that was slowly spreading across the corridor. He stared dumbly at the semi-conscious mech, part of him utterly horrified at what he'd done...but a larger, louder voce in his mind was smugly satisfied. And he was numbly stunned to realise that...he actually felt a little better now.

"Not bad."

Starscream whirled awkwardly, staring up in a kind of groggy disbelief at the silver mech towering over him once again. Recognition hovered, yelling for his attention, but for a split second all he could do was stare like a drone at the dimly lit figure looming above him.

_It's Megatron, you idiot! _His mind screamed through the fog. _The commander of the army! Your commander! Say something, dummy...!_

"Not bad at all..." Megatron continued, apparently oblivious to the shouting match in the seeker's mind. He strode casually over to Starscream's side and looked over Mawklin's pulped face and upper body, examining it like he would a practice drone he'd set Starscream to work on. "-But you need to pay attention to what's going on around you. His trine could have jumped you from above or behind, and then you would have been outnumbered and out-manoeuvred. That's especially important when you're fighting in the field."

He glanced over to Starscream, still staring at him as if the younger mech had seen a ghost. "You did well in the training sessions today. I watch my troops, and those who do well I reward. You would do even better to remember that."

Megatron waited; Starscream found his voice, even more rasping than usual now, and managed to croak out "Yes, sir."

A thin smile hovered over cold, pale lips. "Good." The larger transformer straightened and began to walk away, but he paused a little further down the corridor. "And Starscream... try not to practice on your classmates in future. At least not where you can be seen."

"Y-yes sir" the seeker stammered again, gazing after Megatron for a long while after he had disappeared down the corridor and out of sight. Pushing himself to his feet was an effort - but as he walked down the hall to his quarters, grudgingly pushing a button for maintenance to find the unconscious Mawklin as he did so, a twinge of guilt pushed roughly aside, the silver seeker somehow felt that a little of the weight he carried had eased.

Walking somewhat lighter than he had since the loss of his companion, Starscream started out with a slightly easier tread on the slippery slope to oblivion. And he felt better than he had for days.

* * *

Poor, poor impulsive seeker. Read and review, usual drill. Pretty please? 

Starscream, Megatron and Skyfire are © Hasbro; Shatterwall and Mawklin are © the 'boots. So is the story, mmkay?


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